A wolf howls his ancient rune
My eternal love, lady of the moon
I hear your voice upon the storm
glance upon your ethereal form
With reverence as eager stars, as bright
As a desolate prey that fears the night
I long for the hunt under your flaming glow
To trudge deep and run free in the snow
The mountains soar before me in scorn
Of my love for you, desolate and forlorn
Down the
valleys that gulp my soul
Shards piercing my heart, a gaping hole
That longs to mend by your glorious hand
The wolf cries his hunger throughout the land
For your touch, your lips, your embrace
My quivering heart is whole in your grace
Lady of the Wolves, goddess of the hunt
My bleak fate I must ultimately confront
Maxwell O’Reilly
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